


The Small Things in Life

by greygerbil



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The historical Charles Lee liked dogs a lot and had a Pomeranian called Spado that followed him everywhere, including military missions. This is an attempt to bring Spado into Assassins Creed 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Small Things in Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt that asked for something fluffy with Spado, the historical Charles Lee's favourite dog.

“Goddamn- Lee! Did y’train that ugly mop to be always in the way?!”

Thomas Hickey caught himself and gave a couple more colourful curses for good measure before he fell into his chair. Down on the floor, the black bundle of hair he’d stumbled over gave an indignant whimper.

“Maybe you would be able to walk straight if you were not always drunk. Stop kicking my dog.”

“I ain’t kicking, it gets in my feet!”

As usual, initiate Charles Lee leaned in the corner, a ways away from all conversations that happened around the Green Dragon’s Templar table. He had taken to the spot with a patience that belied the occassional sharp outbursts Haytham had witnessed (usually provoked by Hickey).

With Charles, as always, was Spado. Spado was a dog. It was not all that unusual for a military man to take a liking to dogs, Haytham thought. They were fighters and loyal to the very marrow of their bones. A good symbol to parade around camp and get portraits taken with. Most military men Haytham knew chose a fierce gundog or a large steady breed that moved like a quiet shadow at its owner’s heels.

“You run into him on purpose!”

From what he could tell after their brief acquaintance of a few weeks, yes, Charles liked those dogs, too. When Haytham left him waiting someplace or other, it didn’t surprise him anymore to find, upon his return, that Charles had often made friends with a stray or even a guard’s dog, its owner standing nearby trying to find out how their slobbering death dealer with claws and fangs had regressed to the state of tail-wagging puppy under Charles’ hand.

However, the dog that Charles Lee apparently felt was the one he should be seen with wherever he turned up was a black Pomeranian about the height of a big cat, but twice the size thanks to its shaggy fur.

“Maybe if you’d get a cur that’s a little bigger than some horse droppings, I wouldn’t be stumbling over the bleedin’ thing!”

Charles straightened, his shoulders set as he opened his mouth for the next round, and Hickey kicked his feet off the table.

Haytham slammed his mug down. It got their attention.

“Peace, gentlemen. A dog of that size shouldn’t be able to cause this much trouble.”

As he’d expected, Charles obediently bowed his head. Hickey muttered something too slurred to understand, which Haytham chose to let go.

Spado was retrieved from the ground and hoisted up into Charles’ arms as the young man turned to the stairs once more. It left the dog with its tiny paws on Charles’ shoulder, staring at Haytham with big black eyes, its tongue hanging out of its mouth. For the rest of the evening, Haytham gave his very best to ignore the attentive canine gaze.

* 

“Where is Spado?”

As Spado had accompanied them to the mercenary compound to retrieve Johnson’s research, Haytham had thought it an odd one-time occurence. When Spado went to look for Church with them, Haytham had complained, but soon found it was the one point in which Charles would not eventually fall in line with his opinion. By the time Spado came to free Pitcairn, Haytham had given up on trying to change Lee’s mind.

Now he was at the point where the lack of a small black animal bouncing somewhere in the vicinity of Charles’ feet felt wrong. Besides, he had gotten used to the yappy little beast jumping up his leather boots when they met. Spado liked Haytham as much as his master seemed to.

Charles looked at Haytham and smiled slightly, 

“I could hardly take him if we plan to infiltrate Silas Thatcher’s base, Sir. I might have met some of the men there before, and while I can't imagine they would be able to recall my face, Spado is easy to recognise. There are not many dogs like him around camps.”

“That much is true,” Haytham conceeded. “I always meant to ask, Charles – why this dog? Wouldn’t something a little more,” he gestured vaguely, “ _impressive_ be more appropriate?”

“On the contrary. Since he’s so small, he can even ride with me in my saddle when he comes on military missions. He also doesn’t upset the horses.”

Haytham’s brows shot up.

“He went to battle with you?”

“He goes everywhere I go. Most everywhere,” Charles corrected himself. “I don’t want to get him, or us, in trouble.”

Haytham shook his head. “Well, I suppose he has never been in the way. As long as you keep using your head as to where you bring him, it shouldn’t be a problem. Now, let’s see where this convoy is...”

*

He had not liked it – he could not enjoy putting the blade to the throat of a man who had fought by his side for years and perhaps it was better that way. Still, killing Braddock was a deed long overdue and when Haytham raised out of the swamp, he slipped the ring into his pocket, already knowing he’d soon put it on the finger of a man more deserving.

Melancholy kept him a moment longer as he looked at a face that, in times long past, had been a welcome sight. It confounded him that he had been able to misjudge the man so gravely. Could such cruelty as he had shown really develop so suddenly in an adult man or had Braddock simply been good at hiding?

The question moved somewhat to the back of Haytham’s mind when a bullet hit the ground an inch to the left of his feet.

Three men had followed them on their breakneck chase. Two were dispatched easily enough once Haytham had his sword in hand. However, one was a grenadier and, to Haytham’s distress, not just a big buffoon that had been handed an appropriately heavy axe, as some of them. His slashes were quick and precise and every offensive strike he blocked with vexing ease. When Haytham tripped backwards, landing on his behind, he grabbed his sword with one hand by the handle and supported the flat of it with the other palm to create a small but hopefully sufficient shield from the man’s next blow. It saved his life, but the sword shattered on impact, leaving Haytham with the hilt and broken blade.

The grenadier’s face pulled into a grin full of bloodlust. Again he lifted his axe while Haytham tried to scramble backwards and onto his feet at once.

Something small and dark shot out of the underbrush, muddy water spraying everywhere as it ran. A second later, the grenadier’s leg, only covered in thin black trousers thanks to his chosen outfit of plaid skirt, was beset by the animal. There was a growl and a flash of teeth. With a pained scream, the grenadier grabbed the ball of fur and threw it against a tree trunk.

The moment of distraction was all Haytham needed. Before the grenadier’s arm had come down again from the throw Haytham was on him, opening his throat with his hidden blade. Gurgling, the soldier went down to suffocate on a mix of swamp water and his own blood.

Haytham looked over to his saviour. By the tree, dazed from its head meeting the wood, stood a little black dog. It had a bloody snout and swayed back and forth, its short legs submerged all the way in water. When it spotted Haytham, it gave a happy bark.

Haytham fled the scene with Spado under his arm, wrapped securely in Haytham’s cape.

*

“May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

Charles’ solemn expression broke into a heartfelt smile before he had finished the oath. Grabbing his shoulders once more, Haytham nodded his head.

“Welcome to our Order, brother.”

The disappointment over the alleged precursor cave seemed faint as he looked upon Charles’ face. Despite all, his time in the colonies had not been wasted. There were capable, smart men here, the sort that would strengthen the Templar cause and help build a new world order, with or without the help of those that walked the earth before.

“It’s an honour, Sir.”

“Likewise. Now!” He slapped his shoulders before he let go. “I have a present for you. If you would follow me?”

Curious, Charles cocked his head as he agreed. His gaze grew more confused when Haytham led him to the closed door of his room. He might have seen the small woollen parcel Haytham had carried in and left there upon his return, before he rejoined his colleagues at the table.

“To be true, it is already yours. I am just returning it.”

Haytham opened the door. Curled on his pillow laid Spado, one little leg wrapped in a bandage a doctor had applied on Haytham’s sharp insistence. His ears pricked up at the sound of the door. When he spotted his owner, he was on his paws faster than lightning, hobbling towards him with excited woofing.

Charles made a sound somewhere between shout and laugh as he dropped to one knee, grabbing the small dog and closing his arms around him.

“Spado!” He looked up. “Where did you find him, Sir?! I thought he was lost!”

Spado licked Lee’s face and sniffed his hands, his nose pressing against the ring for a moment.

“Not at all. He had gone off looking for me, it seems.” When Charles rose to his feet, Haytham reached forward and scratched Spado behind the ears. “And not a moment too late.”

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“Your Spado valiantly embedded his fangs in the leg of one of Braddock’s grenadiers who was about to make me one head shorter. That’s how he earned this wound.” Haytham raised a brow. “It bought me enough time to finish him. On that note, remind me to hit Mister Hickey over the head the next time he makes a comment about your dog.”

“Gladly, Sir,” Charles said, his voice still playful and light with joy.

“I was surprised you brought him at all, though. You knew we were going to cause quite some chaos...”

“As you see, he knows how to handle himself. Although he usually just hides and rejoins me later.” Charles chuckled. “I planned to leave him, actually. But Braddock made a comment about him just the morning we began the journey and I feared if I left him behind, he might realise I expect trouble. Likely it wouldn’t have been a problem, but I didn’t want to risk raising any suspicions, Sir.”

“Well, if you had left him, I might be food for the worms,” Haytham noted. “If I plan another attack on a general, we will definitely take your little hound as a secret weapon. I can guarantee they will not see it coming.”


End file.
